Fic: Memories as a Teacup: Chapter 3
Title: Memories as a Teacup: Chapter 3
Author: wook77
Pairing:: Dean/Seamus (other slash and het pairings contained within)
Rating: PG
100quills prompt: 048. Days
Warnings: Canon compliant through DH. Pre-Epilogue. Additional Warnings at the beginning of Chapter 1.
Wordcount: Overall: ~70k This part: 4500
Summary: Four years ago, Dean Thomas died in the midst of a raid. Seamus saw it happen right in front of his eyes but seeing isn't believing and reality is in the eye of the beholder.
A/N: Many many thanks to nefernat for stepping in and beta'ing this sucker.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Three weeks went by - three weeks, one day, six hours and forty-five minutes - and Seamus still hadn't heard from Dean. It was tempting to drink until he forgot, drink himself into oblivion and make Dennis take him home but he didn't do any of that.
He'd vowed to himself that he'd deal with the ramifications and dealing meant not running. Instead, he stayed painfully sober and watched Dennis sink in to oblivion. He worried over Dennis as he kept looking more and more ragged while his drinking increased.
Finally, Seamus couldn't watch any longer. He left after making arrangements for Dennis to have a taxi home. It was a lonely walk home as he rehashed his conversations with both Dennis and Dean. He'd really thought Dean would've contacted him by now. He'd counted on it, a fact he wasn't aware of until three weeks, one day, eleven hours and six minutes passed without a hint of contact.
Had someone offered to make the wager, Seamus would've put down money that at least Dean's mum would've contacted him. A scathing letter, a how-dare-you sort of thing, at the very least and a plea for help at the best, anything would be better than this silence. He kicked at a rock on the pavement and then turned towards his building.
Then there was Dennis and his increased drinking. He kept acting like he was going to speak and words never came out. Instead of whatever conversational gambit he'd been about to make, Dennis would order another pint or talk about a match that they hadn't seen.
Trudging up the stairs, his mind was still on the lack of closure and Dennis's issues so he didn't notice how very dark it was. When he reached the landing at the third floor, he finally noticed the lights and he cursed under his breath, "Fucking hell but it fits, bloody fits all right."
He darted a look around in the dark, straining to see if there were any Muggles about. Hoping it was safe when no one yelled out 'I'm a Muggle, don't do magic in front of me', he pulled out his wand and cast a quick Lumos as he walked towards his door at the end of the hall.
"So, it's true, then." The voice came from the shadows and startled Seamus into dropping his keys and wand. The light died out but he didn't need it to tell who that voice belonged to, even if it was quiet and upset.
"Dean?" He bent and picked up his possessions and cast another, stronger, Lumos. In the dim light, he saw Dean sitting in the shadows of the corner with his knees drawn up and his chin resting on them. His face was in even deeper shadows and Seamus took a few steps closer. Dean didn't look up, just stared straight ahead while his hand rested on the box next to him.
"I couldn't believe it at first, you know. Thought the photos were some sort of new technology or something and that you'd made them up. Photoshopped them or whatever but I couldn't get that drawing out of my head." At last, Dean looked up.
"Want to come in? Hallway's no place for a talk." Seamus held out his hand to help Dean off the ground. Dean didn't reach out so Seamus dropped his hand, turned and unlocked his door.
"Wait." At Dean's request, Seamus turned back and saw Dean's upraised hand. With a strong clasp, Seamus pulled him to his feet. Once they were standing, they both stared at their clasped hands before, as one, they let go.
Seamus went into the flat while Dean retrieved the box. Flipping the light switch, he sent up a prayer of thanks when the lights turned on. The scattered clothes, dirty dishes on the end tables, and the empty bottles scattered all over were certainly not a very good first impression. Hoping that Dean wouldn't notice too much, Seamus waved his wand and sent all the bottles winging towards the proper bins and then the clothes towards the bedroom. The trash went to the other set of bins.
There wasn't any sound behind him as the last of the trash fell out of sight. Seamus turned and saw Dean staring into the flat while hugging the box to his chest.
"Sorry, the flat was a mess and… and this isn't about the state of my flat, is it? This's about the magic." The light dawned and Seamus's could've kicked himself for forgetting. It was easy to fall into old habits of doing a quick cleaning as they walked into their flat, trying to get rid of the evidence of a separation.
"I… you…" Dean stammered and Seamus only held the door open further.
"Come in, please. We'll talk." Dean nodded at Seamus's request and came into the flat. "Want something to drink? I've got some ale and lager or I could make some tea."
"A beer would be good." Dean wandered the flat while Seamus went to the kitchen and dug for his bottle opener. First drawer didn't have it and neither did the second. He gave up after the third and, after taking a covert look at Dean, he spelled both bottles of beer open.
Dean had wandered over to the fireplace and was fingering a few of the photographs on the mantle - ones of Seamus with his family - and then looking around curiously. As he crossed the room, Seamus spoke, "That's me family, three sisters, four brothers and then me. I'm the baby and spoilt to boot."
"Sorry, didn't mean to intrude." Dean jumped back from the photos.
"You used to know all of 'em so I don't think of it as intruding. Here you go." The conversation seemed painfully normal and there wasn't that thread of awkwardness they'd had in the office. "Glad to see you came by."
"Don't really have anywhere else to go, truth be known. Not sure if you know but I was living with mum and I sort of left in the middle of an argument." Dean paused to rake his fingers through his hair. "Argument was about you, thought you deserved to know that she, um, she showed me your letters."
"So she got them. That's good to hear." Seamus ignored the wrench in his gut as he sat on the sofa and drank at his beer. "If you want to talk about what all she had to say, I'm here. I'm also here if you need a place to sleep though I don't have a spare room so it'll be the sofa."
"I'd appreciate the sofa for at least tonight, thanks." Seamus's burden suddenly lightened at the idea of Dean sleeping just a bit from him. He wouldn't push. He wouldn't not even as his heart demanded it.
"It's yours. Have to work tomorrow? Need an alarm?" Seamus headed to his bedroom to pull a pillow off the bed and a spare blanket that his mam had knitted him while he'd been in Hogwarts. Dean and he had lain under this blanket while the world erupted into chaos around them and he held it close, breathing in deeply and searching for Dean's scent that had always seemed to cling to it. That it didn't surface didn't matter because Dean was standing - larger than life and twice as awkwardly - in his main room.
"No, thanks, thought I'd take the day off. Not really in a proper emotional state to work, need to be steady and I'm not right now." Dean stared at the pillows and then drank deeply.
"Aye, well, it has to be tough to find out that someone's been keeping secrets from you. How much she tell you?" Seamus went about laying the pillow and unfolding the blanket onto the sofa.
"Not much. Asked her right away but she wouldn't talk about it and I let her go. Then, today, I got pissed and I showed her the photos and she cried. Said some things I'd rather not get into right now and why are we acting like this is normal or all right? Why aren't you yelling or demanding answers?" Dean raked his hand through his hair once more as he started to pace.
Seamus stepped in front of him and then tugged his hand down from his head. "You're not needing the yelling or the demanding. You're needing quiet and peace more than I'm needing to demand, so we'll talk tomorrow. For now, I'll just leave you to sleep and think."
"How do you know that?" Dean whispered as he looked down at Seamus and their entwined hands.
"I know you better than meself, remember?" Seamus squeezed Dean's hand and then let go. "I'll call in tomorrow and we'll take the day for that yelling and demanding. Night, Dean. I'm glad you're here."
Seamus turned and walked into his bedroom, shutting the door behind him. As he stripped, he strained to hear if Dean were doing the same. The temptation to walk out there, grab him and kiss him senseless was strong but the need for them to just be was stronger. He could be patient, if he tried.
The kettle's whistling woke him. It took a moment for Seamus to place the sound and a moment longer to figure out who would be fussing with it. Pulling on whatever bottoms were closest, he walked out into the kitchen. Dean stood at the cooker and his only reaction as Seamus entered the kitchen was to stiffen. Instead of saying anything, Seamus busied himself pulling the milk out of the refrigerator.
"I looked for something to cook but your cupboard's fairly bare," Dean said without turning.
"Aye, I normally grab something out. We can go, if you'd like." The casual acceptance of the night before disappeared under the awkwardness of almost strangers in the daylight.
"That'd be good."
"Just give me a minute." Seamus put the milk back in the refrigerator before going back to his bedroom to rummage around for something vaguely clean and that didn't smell. It'd been so long since he'd done laundry that most of his clothing was on the floor. Spelling the clothes clean, he walked back out and saw that Dean had put away the tea and turned off the cooker. "What do you feel like?"
"Up to you," Dean said and they finally made eye contact. Seamus grinned at the familiar response. Dean had never been one to make a decision for a restaurant and it didn't look like that had changed in the least.
"Still hate black pudding?" Seamus slid on his shoes before realising the familiarity of the question.
"I do, yeah."
"Good to know some things never change. There's a place down the street that serves a fantastic black pudding." Seamus cuffed Dean on the shoulder while he opened the door and then held it as Dean stared. "Sorry, didn't think."
"It's… it's all right. Well, the slap not the black pudding."
In silence, they walked to the small café down the street. The bell tinkled over the door as they entered and then found a table near the back. The only conversation was sorting out their food requests. Seamus played with the salt shaker, moved on to the cutlery and then fiddled with his napkin. Looking anywhere but at Dean, he crossed his ankles, cracked his knuckles and resisted the urge to straighten his hair.
"Mum said that I could do everything you did last night and that she hated it, hated what it had turned me into and that she was glad it was gone," Dean whispered in the midst of the thorny silence. Seamus knew what had driven Dean to his door and he wasn't at all sure how to address it. Instead, he ignored it.
"You were ace at Transfigurations and Charms, though you were pants at Potions and we were both rubbish at Divinations. Professor Trelawney was funny, though. She had these giant glasses and looked like a starved bird. She would swoop all over the place. Couldn't tell you the shite we made up for our papers." Seamus smiled at the memory of them hurrying to get all the homework done and taking Harry and Ron's suggestions and embellishing their own misfortunes.
"How'd we meet?" Dean asked and Seamus finally looked up and shot a grin towards Dean.
"It was on the train to school. You pissed off some older students and I came to your rescue as they were about to turn you green with pink hair while puking slugs. It was pretty gruesome so I stepped in front of you and made them stop. In gratitude, you bought me all sorts of sweets and best mates since." Dean gaped at the story and Seamus laughed. "Naw, that's not how it happened. I'd stumbled into this group of boys, Slytherins and dumber than they looked, which was harder than it seems, and they were going to do something awful to me but you yanked me into your compartment and locked the door. They banged on that door until Percy came by and made them leave. You helped me drag my trunk into the compartment and that's when Nev lost his toad. It was pretty funny to watch it running off and the poor kid running after it. Nev was always losing his toad."
"It sounds like a story book, hard to believe it's real."
"Aye, Muggles are always thinking that. You said you remember from before you were eleven, don't you remember making stuff happen?"
"Like what?" Seamus searched his memory. His mam had told him countless stories of how she'd known he was magic like her but he wanted one that would jog Dean's memory.
"When I was four, mam was punishing Declan, me older brother, and she put the biscuits she'd just made way up in the cupboard where none of us kids could reach. We were all pretty pissed at Declan and I didn't think it was fair. Hell, still don't to be honest. After all, I didn't help paint the neighbour's cat. So I wished really hard for those biscuits and a pile appeared right before me. I was so shocked that I screamed and mam came running. After looking in the cupboard and seeing the jar still up there, she patted me on the head and handed me one. Nothing tasted as good as that biscuit for a long time." Both of them laughed at the memory and the tension at the table eased.
"When I was nine…"
"Yeah?"
"My mum and I used to take these walks. We'd walk all over without any destination or plan, just talk about the news or school or anything, really. There was this little art gallery, mum couldn't see it at first but once we were inside, it was brilliant. There were all these odd little paintings and this hunched over little man with a booming voice. I stopped by this painting of an old man and a chemistry set, all these brightly coloured vials and smoke rising from a cauldron. As I stared at it, it spoke to me," Dean whispered the last and looked around to see if anyone had heard him. "He spoke to me and it scared the shite out of me."
"What did he say?" Seamus knew the answer, he'd heard this story before, when they'd been talking about what had inspired Dean to pick up a brush the first time. Hand drawing patterns and art on Seamus's skin, Dean had told the story in the same dreamy voice he'd just used now. Reaching a hand to his chest, Seamus pressed it against his heart as he remembered.
"'Bezoars and bullfinches, boy!'" Seamus almost said the words as Dean did. "Mum heard it too and got me out of there but I wasn't scared at all. I've looked for that gallery every so often for years and I've never found it."
Seamus knew exactly where it was. He'd searched all over London for it himself, sending out requests to almost anyone he could think of that would know of a painting of an alchemist or a potions master that said such a unique phrase. It had taken him months but he'd finally found it. For Dean's birthday, he'd taken them to it and the wonder on Dean's face as he entered, the absolute joy of the moment, was one of his favourite memories.
"Maybe you'll find it again, someday." Seamus didn't have an opportunity to say anything else as their food arrived and they started to eat. The tension increased as the silence lasted. Unable to tolerate it much longer, Seamus asked the first question that entered his head, "Do you remember getting your Hogwarts letter?"
"No, not at all though mum…"
"Did she show it to you?"
"You could say that." Dean's voice sounded final so Seamus changed the subject away from the letter.
"It was a good school, still is, actually. Mam always goes on about how it was better when she was there but she wasn't fond of Dumbledore, thought he wasn't protecting the students enough. He did his best." Seamus paused as he searched for other topics that wouldn't take Dean back to his mum. "There were five of us boys in the dorm. You, me, Neville, Harry, and Ron. We got along well enough though we all had our problems. Between you and Nev, you kept us all together. We had some good times. Real good times," Seamus said, lost in memory.
The memories of Bertie Bott's - the crunch of toffee and the disgust of ear wax - and the trips to Hogsmeade blended with the studying in the library, shared mealtimes, that frantic rush to finish homework and even the fights. He could look back and see the beauty in all of the memories.
"Yeah," Dean said and he sounded so sad that Seamus was brought back to the now of it, the fact that Dean couldn't remember anything after the time that he would've received his letter.
They'd finished eating and Seamus paid the bill. Seamus had some ideas where to go next but he wasn't sure that Dean would be willing to go to St. Mungo's and have an exam, wasn't sure that Dean would be at all right with Diagon Alley or any of the Wizarding areas as he still thought the stories just that, stories.
"I've somewhere to show you, if you're willing."
"All right." Dean sounded leery but Seamus led the way out of the café and then wove his way through the crowded streets to the Tube. It took two transfers until they were in the right section of London. There wasn't any guarantee that the painting would still be there but it had been four years ago when they'd wandered into the gallery nine months Before.
"Still don't quite believe in the magic, do you?" Seamus asked as they got off the last train and entered the crowd.
"Bit like all those fantasy books, isn't it? I see it happening but I keep thinking that I'll spot the wires or the tricks."
"I can show you that it's real, if you'll trust me." Seamus paused on the pavement while he waited for Dean's answer. After what seemed like an hour of standing their while the crowd of people parted around them, Dean nodded and they continued on their way. Relief poured through Seamus as he finally spotted the gallery. "Do you see it?"
"See what?" Disappointment started to curl in his belly but Seamus ignored it.
"Come on, we'll get a bit closer." Seamus crossed the street and stood in front of the gallery. Dean stood next to him and Seamus watched Dean's face for any sort of recognition. "What about now? Look hard."
"Is that…" The dawning wonder on Dean's face was reward enough.
"Aye, want to go in?" Seamus held out his hand and Dean, still staring at the gallery, took it. Seamus ignored the joy and the temptation to entwine their fingers, press their palms closer together as he pulled their entwined hands to his mouth to lay a kiss across Dean's knuckles. Instead, he held it loosely as they walked into the building.
A wizened, stooped-over wizard stood behind a counter and beamed at them as they walked in. "Take a look around and welcome. Welcome!"
"Do you have a portrait that says something about bezoars?" Seamus asked but Dean was already tugging him over to a small portrait in the back corner. There was the portrait from all those years ago. Amazed that it was still there, Seamus waited for it to speak but the man only stared at his potions and didn't react to them standing there.
"You've visitors, Paracelsus." The man from the counter limped over as he spoke to the painting.
"Bezoars and Bullfinches, boy! Can't you see that I'm working?" The alchemist went back to his work and Dean laughed as he reached out to touch the frame of the painting. Seamus only watched his face as the wonderment spread. It reminded him of the way that Dean would study him at times while he chewed on the tip of a brush or pencil, the way that he'd look right before some piece of artwork came to brilliant, eye-catching life. It reminded him of the Dean from Before and Seamus couldn't resist the temptation any longer as he entwined their fingers together.
"I say, boys, you look familiar to me. Can't say that I've never forgotten a face but it's rare. Not your first visit, is it?" The man had finished making his way towards them.
"In a way, it is," Seamus explained while Dean still gaped.
"In a way? What sort of answer is that?"
"Best I can give you."
"All right, well, let me know if I can help you," the man said as he wandered back to his desk. Seamus nodded in response and went back to watching Dean trace across the frame of the painting.
"It's all real. This whole thing is real." He wasn't sure if Dean had meant to speak out loud but Seamus answered anyway.
"It is."
Dean turned and looked at their entwined hands and then to Seamus's face. In that same whisper, he asked, "What were we?"
"Friends, the best of friends," Seamus whispered back. It was the simplest answer and the most honest. After all, they had been the best of friends even when they'd been lovers. Seamus remembered the first time Dean had kissed him and Seamus had demanded that they stay friends no matter what happened next. They'd kept that vow up until Dean had died.
Dean looked down at their hands again. Seamus didn't let go, wouldn't until Dean pulled back. Seamus wanted to tell him that they'd been more, so much more, but he didn't, wouldn't, couldn't. When he didn't, the tension knot in his chest that he hadn't been aware of eased.
"I wish I could remember." Dean kept staring at their hands so Seamus gave them a squeeze and then left go. There wasn't anything else he could do, Seamus wanted Dean to remember, too, and the pain of it was a stone in the middle of his gut.
"We'll work on it. There're places that might be able to help."
"I've tried, we've tried so many."
"There are Wizarding places that specialise in spell damage, memory problems and such, if you're willing." Dean nodded in response and then, as if by mutual decision, they left the gallery.
They wandered the area, not really talking and not really silent either. Dean pointed out a few spots: the place he'd had lunch with his mum that day he'd discovered the gallery, the place he'd bought his school supplies, a favourite bookstore that he frequented to this day, the shop where he got his art supplies. Each piece of information was small, almost inconsequential but they meant so much to Seamus as they showed that, at the core, Dean hadn't changed.
Losing track of time, they kept walking until Dean's stomach growled. Laughing at the sound, Dean offered dinner at a favourite spot and Seamus agreed. The small curry place was one that they'd been to Before and Seamus relaxed into the familiarity of it. If he concentrated, he could see Before and now melding into one experience for him. In addition, he was here with Dean and they hadn't taken the day to argue and yell as he'd suspected they might the night before.
After dinner, they wandered outside once more. As the sun was setting, Seamus coaxed Dean into the alley behind the restaurant. "Haven't done this in years, not like this but you want to experience magic first hand?"
Dean looked leery. "What're you going to do?"
"Apparate, we'll go from one place to another in the blink of an eye." Seamus held out his hand and Dean looked around before placing his hand into Seamus's.
"All right, just… just don't kill me."
"Wouldn't do that and I'm not meaning to sound like I'm getting fresh but the more we're touching, the better it is."
"Oh yeah?" Dean laughed but stepped closer and slung an arm around Seamus's shoulders.
"Like this," Seamus said as he turned and embraced Dean and Apparated them without giving Dean a chance to respond.
They appeared in the alley behind Seamus's building and Dean was shaking. Seamus cursed himself for pushing but they'd had a brilliant day and Dean had seemed so open after the gallery that he hadn't been able to resist it, had thought maybe that Dean would be open to the experience and…
"What the fuck just… how did we… Oh God." Dean let go and raked his hands through his hair.
"Sorry for pushing, thought you'd enjoy it but I won't…" Seamus stopped speaking when Dean started laughing.
"That was bloody brilliant."
As always, I'd love to hear what you thought.
Chapter 4
Author: wook77
Pairing:: Dean/Seamus (other slash and het pairings contained within)
Rating: PG
100quills prompt: 048. Days
Warnings: Canon compliant through DH. Pre-Epilogue. Additional Warnings at the beginning of Chapter 1.
Wordcount: Overall: ~70k This part: 4500
Summary: Four years ago, Dean Thomas died in the midst of a raid. Seamus saw it happen right in front of his eyes but seeing isn't believing and reality is in the eye of the beholder.
A/N: Many many thanks to nefernat for stepping in and beta'ing this sucker.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Three weeks went by - three weeks, one day, six hours and forty-five minutes - and Seamus still hadn't heard from Dean. It was tempting to drink until he forgot, drink himself into oblivion and make Dennis take him home but he didn't do any of that.
He'd vowed to himself that he'd deal with the ramifications and dealing meant not running. Instead, he stayed painfully sober and watched Dennis sink in to oblivion. He worried over Dennis as he kept looking more and more ragged while his drinking increased.
Finally, Seamus couldn't watch any longer. He left after making arrangements for Dennis to have a taxi home. It was a lonely walk home as he rehashed his conversations with both Dennis and Dean. He'd really thought Dean would've contacted him by now. He'd counted on it, a fact he wasn't aware of until three weeks, one day, eleven hours and six minutes passed without a hint of contact.
Had someone offered to make the wager, Seamus would've put down money that at least Dean's mum would've contacted him. A scathing letter, a how-dare-you sort of thing, at the very least and a plea for help at the best, anything would be better than this silence. He kicked at a rock on the pavement and then turned towards his building.
Then there was Dennis and his increased drinking. He kept acting like he was going to speak and words never came out. Instead of whatever conversational gambit he'd been about to make, Dennis would order another pint or talk about a match that they hadn't seen.
Trudging up the stairs, his mind was still on the lack of closure and Dennis's issues so he didn't notice how very dark it was. When he reached the landing at the third floor, he finally noticed the lights and he cursed under his breath, "Fucking hell but it fits, bloody fits all right."
He darted a look around in the dark, straining to see if there were any Muggles about. Hoping it was safe when no one yelled out 'I'm a Muggle, don't do magic in front of me', he pulled out his wand and cast a quick Lumos as he walked towards his door at the end of the hall.
"So, it's true, then." The voice came from the shadows and startled Seamus into dropping his keys and wand. The light died out but he didn't need it to tell who that voice belonged to, even if it was quiet and upset.
"Dean?" He bent and picked up his possessions and cast another, stronger, Lumos. In the dim light, he saw Dean sitting in the shadows of the corner with his knees drawn up and his chin resting on them. His face was in even deeper shadows and Seamus took a few steps closer. Dean didn't look up, just stared straight ahead while his hand rested on the box next to him.
"I couldn't believe it at first, you know. Thought the photos were some sort of new technology or something and that you'd made them up. Photoshopped them or whatever but I couldn't get that drawing out of my head." At last, Dean looked up.
"Want to come in? Hallway's no place for a talk." Seamus held out his hand to help Dean off the ground. Dean didn't reach out so Seamus dropped his hand, turned and unlocked his door.
"Wait." At Dean's request, Seamus turned back and saw Dean's upraised hand. With a strong clasp, Seamus pulled him to his feet. Once they were standing, they both stared at their clasped hands before, as one, they let go.
Seamus went into the flat while Dean retrieved the box. Flipping the light switch, he sent up a prayer of thanks when the lights turned on. The scattered clothes, dirty dishes on the end tables, and the empty bottles scattered all over were certainly not a very good first impression. Hoping that Dean wouldn't notice too much, Seamus waved his wand and sent all the bottles winging towards the proper bins and then the clothes towards the bedroom. The trash went to the other set of bins.
There wasn't any sound behind him as the last of the trash fell out of sight. Seamus turned and saw Dean staring into the flat while hugging the box to his chest.
"Sorry, the flat was a mess and… and this isn't about the state of my flat, is it? This's about the magic." The light dawned and Seamus's could've kicked himself for forgetting. It was easy to fall into old habits of doing a quick cleaning as they walked into their flat, trying to get rid of the evidence of a separation.
"I… you…" Dean stammered and Seamus only held the door open further.
"Come in, please. We'll talk." Dean nodded at Seamus's request and came into the flat. "Want something to drink? I've got some ale and lager or I could make some tea."
"A beer would be good." Dean wandered the flat while Seamus went to the kitchen and dug for his bottle opener. First drawer didn't have it and neither did the second. He gave up after the third and, after taking a covert look at Dean, he spelled both bottles of beer open.
Dean had wandered over to the fireplace and was fingering a few of the photographs on the mantle - ones of Seamus with his family - and then looking around curiously. As he crossed the room, Seamus spoke, "That's me family, three sisters, four brothers and then me. I'm the baby and spoilt to boot."
"Sorry, didn't mean to intrude." Dean jumped back from the photos.
"You used to know all of 'em so I don't think of it as intruding. Here you go." The conversation seemed painfully normal and there wasn't that thread of awkwardness they'd had in the office. "Glad to see you came by."
"Don't really have anywhere else to go, truth be known. Not sure if you know but I was living with mum and I sort of left in the middle of an argument." Dean paused to rake his fingers through his hair. "Argument was about you, thought you deserved to know that she, um, she showed me your letters."
"So she got them. That's good to hear." Seamus ignored the wrench in his gut as he sat on the sofa and drank at his beer. "If you want to talk about what all she had to say, I'm here. I'm also here if you need a place to sleep though I don't have a spare room so it'll be the sofa."
"I'd appreciate the sofa for at least tonight, thanks." Seamus's burden suddenly lightened at the idea of Dean sleeping just a bit from him. He wouldn't push. He wouldn't not even as his heart demanded it.
"It's yours. Have to work tomorrow? Need an alarm?" Seamus headed to his bedroom to pull a pillow off the bed and a spare blanket that his mam had knitted him while he'd been in Hogwarts. Dean and he had lain under this blanket while the world erupted into chaos around them and he held it close, breathing in deeply and searching for Dean's scent that had always seemed to cling to it. That it didn't surface didn't matter because Dean was standing - larger than life and twice as awkwardly - in his main room.
"No, thanks, thought I'd take the day off. Not really in a proper emotional state to work, need to be steady and I'm not right now." Dean stared at the pillows and then drank deeply.
"Aye, well, it has to be tough to find out that someone's been keeping secrets from you. How much she tell you?" Seamus went about laying the pillow and unfolding the blanket onto the sofa.
"Not much. Asked her right away but she wouldn't talk about it and I let her go. Then, today, I got pissed and I showed her the photos and she cried. Said some things I'd rather not get into right now and why are we acting like this is normal or all right? Why aren't you yelling or demanding answers?" Dean raked his hand through his hair once more as he started to pace.
Seamus stepped in front of him and then tugged his hand down from his head. "You're not needing the yelling or the demanding. You're needing quiet and peace more than I'm needing to demand, so we'll talk tomorrow. For now, I'll just leave you to sleep and think."
"How do you know that?" Dean whispered as he looked down at Seamus and their entwined hands.
"I know you better than meself, remember?" Seamus squeezed Dean's hand and then let go. "I'll call in tomorrow and we'll take the day for that yelling and demanding. Night, Dean. I'm glad you're here."
Seamus turned and walked into his bedroom, shutting the door behind him. As he stripped, he strained to hear if Dean were doing the same. The temptation to walk out there, grab him and kiss him senseless was strong but the need for them to just be was stronger. He could be patient, if he tried.
The kettle's whistling woke him. It took a moment for Seamus to place the sound and a moment longer to figure out who would be fussing with it. Pulling on whatever bottoms were closest, he walked out into the kitchen. Dean stood at the cooker and his only reaction as Seamus entered the kitchen was to stiffen. Instead of saying anything, Seamus busied himself pulling the milk out of the refrigerator.
"I looked for something to cook but your cupboard's fairly bare," Dean said without turning.
"Aye, I normally grab something out. We can go, if you'd like." The casual acceptance of the night before disappeared under the awkwardness of almost strangers in the daylight.
"That'd be good."
"Just give me a minute." Seamus put the milk back in the refrigerator before going back to his bedroom to rummage around for something vaguely clean and that didn't smell. It'd been so long since he'd done laundry that most of his clothing was on the floor. Spelling the clothes clean, he walked back out and saw that Dean had put away the tea and turned off the cooker. "What do you feel like?"
"Up to you," Dean said and they finally made eye contact. Seamus grinned at the familiar response. Dean had never been one to make a decision for a restaurant and it didn't look like that had changed in the least.
"Still hate black pudding?" Seamus slid on his shoes before realising the familiarity of the question.
"I do, yeah."
"Good to know some things never change. There's a place down the street that serves a fantastic black pudding." Seamus cuffed Dean on the shoulder while he opened the door and then held it as Dean stared. "Sorry, didn't think."
"It's… it's all right. Well, the slap not the black pudding."
In silence, they walked to the small café down the street. The bell tinkled over the door as they entered and then found a table near the back. The only conversation was sorting out their food requests. Seamus played with the salt shaker, moved on to the cutlery and then fiddled with his napkin. Looking anywhere but at Dean, he crossed his ankles, cracked his knuckles and resisted the urge to straighten his hair.
"Mum said that I could do everything you did last night and that she hated it, hated what it had turned me into and that she was glad it was gone," Dean whispered in the midst of the thorny silence. Seamus knew what had driven Dean to his door and he wasn't at all sure how to address it. Instead, he ignored it.
"You were ace at Transfigurations and Charms, though you were pants at Potions and we were both rubbish at Divinations. Professor Trelawney was funny, though. She had these giant glasses and looked like a starved bird. She would swoop all over the place. Couldn't tell you the shite we made up for our papers." Seamus smiled at the memory of them hurrying to get all the homework done and taking Harry and Ron's suggestions and embellishing their own misfortunes.
"How'd we meet?" Dean asked and Seamus finally looked up and shot a grin towards Dean.
"It was on the train to school. You pissed off some older students and I came to your rescue as they were about to turn you green with pink hair while puking slugs. It was pretty gruesome so I stepped in front of you and made them stop. In gratitude, you bought me all sorts of sweets and best mates since." Dean gaped at the story and Seamus laughed. "Naw, that's not how it happened. I'd stumbled into this group of boys, Slytherins and dumber than they looked, which was harder than it seems, and they were going to do something awful to me but you yanked me into your compartment and locked the door. They banged on that door until Percy came by and made them leave. You helped me drag my trunk into the compartment and that's when Nev lost his toad. It was pretty funny to watch it running off and the poor kid running after it. Nev was always losing his toad."
"It sounds like a story book, hard to believe it's real."
"Aye, Muggles are always thinking that. You said you remember from before you were eleven, don't you remember making stuff happen?"
"Like what?" Seamus searched his memory. His mam had told him countless stories of how she'd known he was magic like her but he wanted one that would jog Dean's memory.
"When I was four, mam was punishing Declan, me older brother, and she put the biscuits she'd just made way up in the cupboard where none of us kids could reach. We were all pretty pissed at Declan and I didn't think it was fair. Hell, still don't to be honest. After all, I didn't help paint the neighbour's cat. So I wished really hard for those biscuits and a pile appeared right before me. I was so shocked that I screamed and mam came running. After looking in the cupboard and seeing the jar still up there, she patted me on the head and handed me one. Nothing tasted as good as that biscuit for a long time." Both of them laughed at the memory and the tension at the table eased.
"When I was nine…"
"Yeah?"
"My mum and I used to take these walks. We'd walk all over without any destination or plan, just talk about the news or school or anything, really. There was this little art gallery, mum couldn't see it at first but once we were inside, it was brilliant. There were all these odd little paintings and this hunched over little man with a booming voice. I stopped by this painting of an old man and a chemistry set, all these brightly coloured vials and smoke rising from a cauldron. As I stared at it, it spoke to me," Dean whispered the last and looked around to see if anyone had heard him. "He spoke to me and it scared the shite out of me."
"What did he say?" Seamus knew the answer, he'd heard this story before, when they'd been talking about what had inspired Dean to pick up a brush the first time. Hand drawing patterns and art on Seamus's skin, Dean had told the story in the same dreamy voice he'd just used now. Reaching a hand to his chest, Seamus pressed it against his heart as he remembered.
"'Bezoars and bullfinches, boy!'" Seamus almost said the words as Dean did. "Mum heard it too and got me out of there but I wasn't scared at all. I've looked for that gallery every so often for years and I've never found it."
Seamus knew exactly where it was. He'd searched all over London for it himself, sending out requests to almost anyone he could think of that would know of a painting of an alchemist or a potions master that said such a unique phrase. It had taken him months but he'd finally found it. For Dean's birthday, he'd taken them to it and the wonder on Dean's face as he entered, the absolute joy of the moment, was one of his favourite memories.
"Maybe you'll find it again, someday." Seamus didn't have an opportunity to say anything else as their food arrived and they started to eat. The tension increased as the silence lasted. Unable to tolerate it much longer, Seamus asked the first question that entered his head, "Do you remember getting your Hogwarts letter?"
"No, not at all though mum…"
"Did she show it to you?"
"You could say that." Dean's voice sounded final so Seamus changed the subject away from the letter.
"It was a good school, still is, actually. Mam always goes on about how it was better when she was there but she wasn't fond of Dumbledore, thought he wasn't protecting the students enough. He did his best." Seamus paused as he searched for other topics that wouldn't take Dean back to his mum. "There were five of us boys in the dorm. You, me, Neville, Harry, and Ron. We got along well enough though we all had our problems. Between you and Nev, you kept us all together. We had some good times. Real good times," Seamus said, lost in memory.
The memories of Bertie Bott's - the crunch of toffee and the disgust of ear wax - and the trips to Hogsmeade blended with the studying in the library, shared mealtimes, that frantic rush to finish homework and even the fights. He could look back and see the beauty in all of the memories.
"Yeah," Dean said and he sounded so sad that Seamus was brought back to the now of it, the fact that Dean couldn't remember anything after the time that he would've received his letter.
They'd finished eating and Seamus paid the bill. Seamus had some ideas where to go next but he wasn't sure that Dean would be willing to go to St. Mungo's and have an exam, wasn't sure that Dean would be at all right with Diagon Alley or any of the Wizarding areas as he still thought the stories just that, stories.
"I've somewhere to show you, if you're willing."
"All right." Dean sounded leery but Seamus led the way out of the café and then wove his way through the crowded streets to the Tube. It took two transfers until they were in the right section of London. There wasn't any guarantee that the painting would still be there but it had been four years ago when they'd wandered into the gallery nine months Before.
"Still don't quite believe in the magic, do you?" Seamus asked as they got off the last train and entered the crowd.
"Bit like all those fantasy books, isn't it? I see it happening but I keep thinking that I'll spot the wires or the tricks."
"I can show you that it's real, if you'll trust me." Seamus paused on the pavement while he waited for Dean's answer. After what seemed like an hour of standing their while the crowd of people parted around them, Dean nodded and they continued on their way. Relief poured through Seamus as he finally spotted the gallery. "Do you see it?"
"See what?" Disappointment started to curl in his belly but Seamus ignored it.
"Come on, we'll get a bit closer." Seamus crossed the street and stood in front of the gallery. Dean stood next to him and Seamus watched Dean's face for any sort of recognition. "What about now? Look hard."
"Is that…" The dawning wonder on Dean's face was reward enough.
"Aye, want to go in?" Seamus held out his hand and Dean, still staring at the gallery, took it. Seamus ignored the joy and the temptation to entwine their fingers, press their palms closer together as he pulled their entwined hands to his mouth to lay a kiss across Dean's knuckles. Instead, he held it loosely as they walked into the building.
A wizened, stooped-over wizard stood behind a counter and beamed at them as they walked in. "Take a look around and welcome. Welcome!"
"Do you have a portrait that says something about bezoars?" Seamus asked but Dean was already tugging him over to a small portrait in the back corner. There was the portrait from all those years ago. Amazed that it was still there, Seamus waited for it to speak but the man only stared at his potions and didn't react to them standing there.
"You've visitors, Paracelsus." The man from the counter limped over as he spoke to the painting.
"Bezoars and Bullfinches, boy! Can't you see that I'm working?" The alchemist went back to his work and Dean laughed as he reached out to touch the frame of the painting. Seamus only watched his face as the wonderment spread. It reminded him of the way that Dean would study him at times while he chewed on the tip of a brush or pencil, the way that he'd look right before some piece of artwork came to brilliant, eye-catching life. It reminded him of the Dean from Before and Seamus couldn't resist the temptation any longer as he entwined their fingers together.
"I say, boys, you look familiar to me. Can't say that I've never forgotten a face but it's rare. Not your first visit, is it?" The man had finished making his way towards them.
"In a way, it is," Seamus explained while Dean still gaped.
"In a way? What sort of answer is that?"
"Best I can give you."
"All right, well, let me know if I can help you," the man said as he wandered back to his desk. Seamus nodded in response and went back to watching Dean trace across the frame of the painting.
"It's all real. This whole thing is real." He wasn't sure if Dean had meant to speak out loud but Seamus answered anyway.
"It is."
Dean turned and looked at their entwined hands and then to Seamus's face. In that same whisper, he asked, "What were we?"
"Friends, the best of friends," Seamus whispered back. It was the simplest answer and the most honest. After all, they had been the best of friends even when they'd been lovers. Seamus remembered the first time Dean had kissed him and Seamus had demanded that they stay friends no matter what happened next. They'd kept that vow up until Dean had died.
Dean looked down at their hands again. Seamus didn't let go, wouldn't until Dean pulled back. Seamus wanted to tell him that they'd been more, so much more, but he didn't, wouldn't, couldn't. When he didn't, the tension knot in his chest that he hadn't been aware of eased.
"I wish I could remember." Dean kept staring at their hands so Seamus gave them a squeeze and then left go. There wasn't anything else he could do, Seamus wanted Dean to remember, too, and the pain of it was a stone in the middle of his gut.
"We'll work on it. There're places that might be able to help."
"I've tried, we've tried so many."
"There are Wizarding places that specialise in spell damage, memory problems and such, if you're willing." Dean nodded in response and then, as if by mutual decision, they left the gallery.
They wandered the area, not really talking and not really silent either. Dean pointed out a few spots: the place he'd had lunch with his mum that day he'd discovered the gallery, the place he'd bought his school supplies, a favourite bookstore that he frequented to this day, the shop where he got his art supplies. Each piece of information was small, almost inconsequential but they meant so much to Seamus as they showed that, at the core, Dean hadn't changed.
Losing track of time, they kept walking until Dean's stomach growled. Laughing at the sound, Dean offered dinner at a favourite spot and Seamus agreed. The small curry place was one that they'd been to Before and Seamus relaxed into the familiarity of it. If he concentrated, he could see Before and now melding into one experience for him. In addition, he was here with Dean and they hadn't taken the day to argue and yell as he'd suspected they might the night before.
After dinner, they wandered outside once more. As the sun was setting, Seamus coaxed Dean into the alley behind the restaurant. "Haven't done this in years, not like this but you want to experience magic first hand?"
Dean looked leery. "What're you going to do?"
"Apparate, we'll go from one place to another in the blink of an eye." Seamus held out his hand and Dean looked around before placing his hand into Seamus's.
"All right, just… just don't kill me."
"Wouldn't do that and I'm not meaning to sound like I'm getting fresh but the more we're touching, the better it is."
"Oh yeah?" Dean laughed but stepped closer and slung an arm around Seamus's shoulders.
"Like this," Seamus said as he turned and embraced Dean and Apparated them without giving Dean a chance to respond.
They appeared in the alley behind Seamus's building and Dean was shaking. Seamus cursed himself for pushing but they'd had a brilliant day and Dean had seemed so open after the gallery that he hadn't been able to resist it, had thought maybe that Dean would be open to the experience and…
"What the fuck just… how did we… Oh God." Dean let go and raked his hands through his hair.
"Sorry for pushing, thought you'd enjoy it but I won't…" Seamus stopped speaking when Dean started laughing.
"That was bloody brilliant."
As always, I'd love to hear what you thought.
Chapter 4